“Well, we shall see.”
“Ready for another, sir?” said Gedge, coming in with the bucket.
“Yes, yes, as soon as you can,” said Bracy. “This one feels boiling hot.”
The fresh, cool, wet cloth was laid across his forehead; and, rousing up from the disappointment he felt at Bracy taking so decided a view against an expedition which the young subaltern had proposed to make almost solely in his friend’s interest, and moved by the boyish spirit of mischief within him, Drummond suddenly exclaimed:
“Look out, Gedge, or he’ll bowl you over!—Oh, I beg your pardon, Bracy, old chap. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. Knock me over, Roberts. I deserve it.”
For Bracy had winced sharply, and a look as of one suffering mental agony came into his eyes.
“It does not matter,” he said, smiling faintly and holding out his hand, which Drummond caught in his.
“Ain’t no fear, sir,” said Gedge, who was soaking the hot cloth. “The guv’nor ain’t had a touch now for a week.”
“Quiet!” whispered Roberts to the man.
“He is quite right, Roberts, old fellow,” sighed Bracy; “I am certainly better. But if I could only get rid of that constant pain!”